


et malgré ça

by littlehuang (boyfrendery)



Series: on se prend la main, comme des enfants [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-15 09:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyfrendery/pseuds/littlehuang
Summary: il m'aime encore(or: a collection of nahyuck for #00fftober)prompts fulfilled: fairytale, spring





	1. Day 2: Fairytale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> donghyuck realizes the life he lives as prince won't end like a fairy tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> applicable tags: Lee Jeno, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst

This is not the fairy tale he was told as a child.

Donghyuck would sit in his mother’s lap, nestled in one if the many blankets found in their castle, passed down through the generations, their hardships and stories woven into the fabric he fell asleep in. She would take him in her arms and read him fairy tales before bed: how love and kindness were the solutions, how there’s always a happy ending where the bad guy loses, how strength and courage and wit were all you needed to overcome obstacles. The children escape the witch, the girl finds her prince, the trickster fools the giant. He would fall asleep in these blankets, the history of his ancestors draped around him, and his mother would carry him to bed, tuck him in like a cocoon, like a young caterpillar who will emerge one day as an extraordinary butterfly, the heir ready to be king.

This is none of the promises he was given, none of the sweet nothings whispered before bed to lull him to sleep, the empty promise of a happy ending as he sat on the throne of the kingdom, his people living in harmony.

This is a war, and he is on one side of it. There is no good side, no bad, just his and theirs. He must gear himself and his people up for war, one he had no hand in creating, one passed down to him like the blankets he slept in at night. The war his family started again, the one he must end.

A knock comes from the entry of the king’s library. “Prince Donghyuck? The royal court awaits your arrival in 10 minutes.” The young courtier leaves with a small bow, her fading steps echoing down the cobblestone hallways 

Donghyuck looks back down at the written letter in his hand, the scrawled lines of black ink filling the parchment. His eyes trace over each connected letter, each slanted S and dotted I, the signature N at the very end, its tail trailing far too long, the end of the very last word, his name.

> _To my dear Donghyuck,_
> 
> _The news has spread on this side of the river._

He can’t count how many times he’s read this letter.

> _I know my duty and yours. We’re sons of kings first, friends second._

It’s so like him, to be this strong even in his words. To remind them both of the parts they have to play in this war.

> _Forbidden lovers last._

To remind them of what can’t be.

> _Our knights have begun preparations for winter. Could we come to a truce by then? Battles in snow always end so painfully red. _

There are paintings hung in one of the corridors of the castle, stills of a great winter battle, the river frozen and splattered with blood on its ice, white snow tainted by the death of men. Donghyuck asks Court Physician Taeil to come up to his own bedroom when needed, solely to avoid the long walk of paintings toward the physician’s office.

> _ I do wish you can make it here, for next summer. The sunflowers grow wonderfully on this side of the river._

Their bright yellow petals, large maroon discs in the center, turning to face the sun and its bright rays. Tall, sturdy green stems, shooting so high Donghyuck couldn’t see past them until his own growth spurt.

> _I wish to see you smile and play in those flower fields like we did as kids._

And so like him still, to remind Donghyuck of the days no longer, of the childhood they’ve abandoned to be sons of kings, heirs to the throne.

> _Let’s meet once again, to stop this war before our history repeats itself. What do you say?_

He doesn’t have a say, not until he’s king. Not yet. 

He reads the last word over and over, a tall swirled J and that signature, trailed N.

> _Na Jaemin._

Donghyuck arrives in the meeting chamber, a mere five minutes tardy. His father attempts to hide the scowl he makes when Donghyuck enters the room. 

But like all other meetings, Donghyuck’s presence is merely a formality, and his mind drifts off, thinking of sunflowers in June, the bouquet he received on his birthday from across the river.

“Donghyuck?” His mother’s voice surprises him and snaps him out of his reverie. He refocuses his eyes to see the whole table looking at him, some with faces of concern. Stationed at the entrance of the meeting chamber is Jeno, a young knight and Donghyuck’s best friend. His face has paled and he does his best to stay neutral, focus, a poker face required as a knight on duty, but Donghyuck can see through it, see the worry he’s hiding.

“Your father,” his mother speaks slowly, the cadence of a polite queen, “has asked if you will meet Prince Na next week.”

Donghyuck turns to his right, toward the head of the table. “Yes, I will. He has asked if we could meet once more.”

His father looks pleased with the answer. “Good,” he smiles, somehow the sweetest he’s ever seen the man in his life. “You must do it then, Donghyuck.”

He glances again across the room, to Jeno, searching for an answer on his face. He looks back at his father. “What must I do, father?”

This is not the fairy tale he was told as a child, it never has been. It never will be.

The realization sinks low into Donghyuck’s gut, rips his insides, makes him wish he was never wrapped in those blankets, the ones soaked in the history of his ancestors, threaded the tapestry of their never ending war across the river.

“You must kill the prince.”


	2. Day 1: Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jaemin contemplates a birthday gift for prince lee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> applicable tags: Lee Taeyong, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Fluff
> 
> this is an epilogue to Day 2 — the events of this fic take place before those of Chapter 1.

The Emerald River begins to defrost mid-March, at the peak of spring, its rapids running downstream to empty out into Crystal Lake. The frozen surface completely melts away by the last week of March, when the beating rays of the sun touches its surface every day, warming both the waters and the soil on either side of the river, the forgotten soil that will soon sprout rich, green grass. 

East of the river, sunflowers will grow to border the kingdom, blooming through the summer into tall, sturdy stalks, a visible mark of where they kingdom begins and ends. They will follow the sun for every ray of light until they fully blossom in July, colouring miles of land gold. There’s a reason this kingdom is named after these fields.

Jaemin lays on his bed, the blankets beneath him dyed the same yellow as the endless fields next to the river. It’s early June, the last stretch of spring persistent in its timeline, keeping the warm weather away for a few weeks longer, until the summer solstice rings in the new season. A cool breeze blows through the window of his bedroom, rustling the wind chimes hung over his vanity. It carries the welcoming scent of freshly baked loaves of bread, the midday dozen prepared daily by Taeyong, the castle’s baker.

He lifts himself off the bed and dresses himself into his casual robes. A quick stroll through his own home doesn’t require any formality.

He walks quickly down the stairs, one hand holding closed the open sweater hung over his shoulders while the other ghosts along the metal railings of the stairs. When he arrives in the kitchen, the additional maids give him a small bow of the head before exiting, leaving him alone with Taeyong.

“Good afternoon, Pri— Jaemin, what are you wearing?” Taeyong changes his greeting midway as he turns his head away from the oven. Jaemin is sitting on the counter of the kitchen, a bag of flour to his right and a cooled batch of bread to his left. He tears off a piece and relishes in the sweet, spicy taste.

“Cinnamon loaves. How fancy, but not quite in season.” He bites into another piece. “It’s delicious, Taeyong.”

Taeyong wipes his hands on the front of his apron, flour dusting the floor. “You musn’t wander these halls in your casual robes, Jaemin.”

“Says you, who wanders the castle in your,” Jaemin points toward Taeyong’s legs, “dirty apron.”

“Jaemin, I am a chef. This is part of my job.”

“And this,” Jaemin gestures, his hands waving aimlessly over his head, “is my home.” He gives Taeyong a pointed look. 

The baker doesn’t argue. He walks to the other side of the kitchen to grab a basket and small knife. He wraps the torn-into cinnamon loaf with a cloth napkin and places it into the wicker basket, handing it to Jaemin. “Take this to your room. I know this is all you came here for anyway.”

“I actually had a question.” Jaemin gulps. He had been contemplating who to ask all morning. “About Prince Lee.”

“Oh.” Taeyong leans slightly against the counter across from Jaemin, looking up at him. “What is it?”

Jaemin looks down at the basket in his lap. “His birthday is in... four days, and our kingdoms are at peace.” The loaf in the basket has completely cooled. He holds a piece in his hand. “Would you be able to help me send him a gift?”

Taeyong presses both hands behind him, relaxing his shoulders as he leans onto the counter. “What sort of gift do you have in mind?”

“I wanted... to send him a bouquet, of sunflowers. But they never bloom large enough before his birthday.” Jaemin purses his lips. “Damn spring baby.”

Taeyong lifts one of his hands to cover his laugh with the back of his hand. “Our sunflowers are shy this year, blooming a bit late, but I can’t do much to help that.”

“I was thinking,” Jaemin looks down again, eyes on the basket in his lap. “Would you be able to bake sugar cookies for him? Or a loaf of bread with sunflower seeds.” Heat rushes up Jaemin’s neck, tickles the tops of his cheeks. “I can help! I can help you make them.”

Taeyong just smiles at Jaemin, who’s blushing a bit more obviously now. “I’ll test a recipe tomorrow and we can bake them in a few days. I’ll deliver the gift myself.” He pats Jaemin’s shoulder, this kind of affection between them only permitted in the confines of the kitchen. “But I would still send a bouquet. It may be a week or two late for his birthday, but he will appreciate it. I’m sure of it.”

Jaemin receives a letter from Taeyong a week after the summer solstice. Its embossed with the seal of the Lees, red closing the parchment envelope. He meets Taeyong in the kitchen, slipping it into the pocket of his good robes, then runs up the stairs to his room.

He stands next to the window when he opens the letter, reading over the short, scrawled handwritten message. Donghyuck has never been as good at writing as he has.

> _Thank you. They were so beautiful, Nana. I wish I could see the fields myself._

What he lacks in calligraphy, he makes up for in art. At the bottom right of the letter is a painted sunflower, the stems growing from the edge of the page, petals as gold as the flowers in the fields on the east side of the river.

He brushes the painted flower with his thumb, caresses it gently. He keeps the letter in the drawer of his vanity, beneath forgotten jewelry and perfumes, in a box painted emerald green, signed  LD at the bottom.

**Author's Note:**

> _et malgré ça, il m'aime encore_: and despite this, he loves me
> 
>   
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